


Philanthropy (is complicated)

by antigrav_vector



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Iron Man (Comic), Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Best Friends, Canon Divergence, Drunk Sex, Friends With Benefits, Historical References, M/M, One Night Stands, Sharing a Bed, Some Fluff, Some feels, Steve doesn't quite understand their relationship, Tony and Bruce are BFFs, Underage Drinking, and he has no idea what to think about Tony anymore, implied one-night-stands, mild dubcon, mixing and matching of MCU and DC canon, who also occasionally share a bed and have sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, the wonderful <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Popcornzoe/pseuds/Popcornzoe">popcornzoe</a> decided to commission this fic AGES ago, and it's high time I made good on my promises.</p><p>She mostly wanted fluff and to see the two billionaires interacting, and I'm hoping this is more or less what she had in mind. It's a lot lighter than either verse tends to be, canonically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks are due [lil_1337](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337) for beta reading and advice giving.

\-- 1977, Institut Le Rosey, Gstaad, Switzerland --

It was a chill autumn morning and the mountains had snow down to their shoulders, but Tony barely noticed. He'd been in Gstaad before for ski season. St. Moritz, too. His mom loved skiing, and his father tolerated it. Howard felt it was mostly wasted time, but the publicity was good for the company, so...

Not that that mattered. Not to him.

Tony hunched his shoulders a little deeper into his coat as Jarvis drove up to the boarding school his parents had picked out for him. This was going to be horrible. He wouldn't have anyone to talk to once Jarvis left.

Jarvis' comforting presence only lasted long enough to get him settled in his room, no matter how Tony clung to him, and then he was alone.

Refusing to cry, Tony huddled on his bed. He had a couple of days to settle in before classes started, but he had no desire to attempt to make friends with teenagers. Not when they would all be attempting to get at his dad's money, or worse, his time.

A knock on his door startled him; he wasn't sure how much time had passed. "Who's there?"

The answer came in American accented English, and the speaker sounded surprisingly young. "My name's Bruce. Can I come in?"

Tony's curiousity got the better of him and he crossed the room to open the door. The kid standing on the other side looked only a couple years older than he was himself, and Tony stared for a moment. The guy looked familiar. "Hi. Tony Stark."

"I heard." Bruce smirked. "Word gets around fast in these kinds of places."

Tony shrugged. "No different than any other."

"True enough, I guess."

The crooked smirk made something fall into place. He'd seen that smirk in various magazines before; this was almost certainly the orphaned child prodigy of Gotham City. "Wait. Bruce Wayne?"

"That's me." The smirk took on a smug but somehow tolerant edge.

Huh. Well, how 'bout that. Tony was starting to like this guy. "I thought you were at some other fancy boarding school in France."

"I was."

There was clearly a story there, but Tony didn't know him well enough to ask. "This one got any teachers worth my time?"

"A couple that are decent, but none at our level."

"Figures. Which ones?"

Wayne's smile turned another few shades more genuine. "Literature, and, surprisingly enough, mathematics." He paused for a moment before he added, "you know, everyone expects us to be bitter rivals."

Tony raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"If you think I'm suggesting that we do the opposite, you'd be right."

Tony laughed and offered him a hand. "Why not. Could be fun. You're on."

Wayne took it in a firm grip and shook it.

It didn't take long for word to spread that messing with either of them would have the other on your case for a bit of vicious revenge. Anyone antagonising Bruce found their door handle randomly rigged to deliver a sharp shock to anyone trying to open it, or all of the screws removed from their bedframe. Or, on one memorable occasion, the plumbing in their bathroom completely redone so that trying to use the shower flooded the toilet and sink simultaneously. Anyone caught giving Tony a hard time would find himself targeted during their sports lessons; during the warmer months, their horses would turn ill-tempered and buck for no reason, in winter their skis would come loose at random intervals, no matter how they tightened the bindings, in spring, their tennis racquets' strings would break repeatedly and at the worst possible moment.

After the first few months, their alliance had gained enough recognition to give them the breathing space to relax just enough to start really getting to know one another. Beyond the surface layer of magazine glitter, Tony discovered, lay a surprisingly warm and interesting person. One smart enough to keep pace with him, to boot. The thought made him grin widely; oh, he was going to _enjoy_ this.

\-- 1984, Gotham City --

After Bruce had graduated from the Institut, life had gotten boring. There had been the sycophants, sure, but they were brainless. Only good for some desultory amusement. Tony took advantage of having money to occasionally sneak out and visit Bruce at Gotham University. They'd gotten into some scrapes that made the tabloids, but nothing bad enough to get Howard's attention.

MIT had been a bit better in that regard. He'd had a lot more freedom to run wild once he'd gotten into college himself. Tony smirked to himself as he watched Bruce cross the stage to accept his diploma, one of the university's youngest graduates in history, at age 18. They'd made plans to celebrate afterward, once they could get Bruce free of his admirers' clutches, and Alfred's well-meant service of tea and cake.

As it turned out, last night they'd made the front page of the Enquirer. Tony stared down at the enormous photo of them leaning against one another and obviously trashed. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the windows, making a determined effort to stab through his eyes and into his skull. Closing his eyes, he sipped at his coffee gratefully. Alfred was as much of a godsend as Jarvis, really. Stiff and proper, but somehow still warm and caring. Even of Tony.

After a moment, his thoughts wandered back to the tabloid article. Neither of them could remember much of what had actually happened. He'd woken up with the remains of either a really good wet dream or some clumsy sex all over him, for that matter. Not knowing who any of it belonged to, he chalked it up to a one-off sometime during the evening.

He'd asked Bruce what they'd done, who'd said he had some hazy memories of strippers before falling back into his bed face-first. Tony had a hunch that that was wrong, though. He was almost certain there had been at least one golden retriever involved. And a spectacular incident wherein Bruce had managed to put his brand new Ferrari at the bottom of someone else's in-ground pool. They'd had to abandon it there overnight. The interior of the car was doubtless well on its way to ruined, meantime, and the engine would need to be drained of chlorinated water, stripped down, lubed, and reassembled.

Maybe, Tony decided, he'd do it for Bruce and soup up the car in the process. A late graduation gift.

"Hey," Bruce wandered out of his bedroom looking totally rumpled, "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Want to go skydiving?"

"We're both still hung over. That sounds like a horrifically bad idea." Tony laughed. "Let's do it."

The car could wait.

\-- 1986, Boston, MA --

Neither of his parents had shown up to his graduation. Summa cum laude at MIT at age 17, and that wasn't enough of an achievement for his father. Only Rhodey, Bruce, Alfred, and Jarvis had bothered to show up. He could see them in the second lowest row of the stands, sitting together. The two of them were getting along like a house on fire, and Tony wasn't sure how he felt about it. Sure he wanted his two best friends to get along, but something told him they would collude against him.

The pair of empty seats next to the small group reminded him of the people who weren't present. His father apparently didn't care, and his mother was off on whatever her latest philanthropic binge was. Something AIDS related. He hadn't paid attention. Why should he?

They'd slipped away after the ceremony and their private celebratory lunch with Alfred and Jarvis.

Tony was dead sure both of them were expecting it, but that didn't matter to him much at the moment. What mattered was that Bruce was in Boston and they were going out on the town, which meant it was his turn to show Bruce the best places to party. Maybe they'd end up with a repeat of Bruce's graduation, but that was hardly the worst possible outcome to the night.

Then, almost before he realised what was happening, it was three am, and they were alone again. Somehow they'd ended up in Gotham City, letting themselves into Bruce's palatial mansion, giggling loudly and unable to stop touching each other. Tony was vaguely aware of Bruce closing and locking the door, careful even in his drunken state, and then hands were on his waist, urging him up the stairs and around the corner into a bedroom he was pretty sure was Bruce's own.

That got his attention where nothing else had, so far. "Bruce?"

"Mmm?"

"What are we doing here?"

Bruce shrugged. "What do you want to do? I like you, you like me. Why not?"

Tony considered that. "We're both drunk."

"And? I've wanted this sober, too." Bruce's hands wandered, one up, untucking Tony's shirt and gliding across skin, the other down to grope at Tony's ass. "Just never quite dared ask. Not while we were still kids."

Tony gave him an amused smirk. "Sure. Why not."

They never did actually get to sleep that night, and Tony's shirt lost most of its buttons as the two of them clumsily attempted to remove it. Neither of them cared.

He couldn't figure out where his belt ended up, later. After a shower and a quick but fruitless search, he pulled the remains of his clothes back on in preparation for breakfast. Bruce had to lend him a shirt.

Sure enough, they were on the front cover of the Boston tabloids and TMZ. The photo wasn't overly well-focused, but they were clearly identifiable, and so was the male stripper Bruce had picked up God only knew where. Tony sure as hell didn't.

Well. Maybe the stripper did.

Whatever.

The plate stacked high with pancakes that landed in front of him distracted his attention from the papers, and he looked up to see Alfred's vaguely disapproving expression. "Breakfast, Mr. Stark?"

With a smile that almost approached apologetic, Tony accepted the food. "Please."

Bruce stepped up behind his shoulder and put in. "Thank you, Alfred. Good Lord, that's a terrible picture. Did they even try?"

They didn't end up discussing what had happened between them last night. Tony wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.

\-- 1991, New York, NY --

_Tony,_

_I've come to a decision. I'm not happy with my life or the direction the company is going; I'm taking off for a while to figure out what to do with myself. Don't bother trying to contact me; I won't have access to anything electronic where I'm headed._

The note had arrived without a return address or a signature, but Tony knew exactly who it was from.

There hadn't been anything huge in the news, recently, so this had to be a personal decision, but it still stung a little, somehow. Resolving to keep an eye out for his friend, Tony went on with life. There was nothing he could do to help Bruce, and no way for him to contact his friend.

\-- 1997, New York, NY --

It was all over the front pages of the major papers, including the New York Times. _Caped masked vigilante calling himself 'the Batman' starts fighting crime and solving mysteries in Gotham._

The melodrama of it all made Tony want to roll his eyes. If that wasn't Bruce, finally back from whatever asscrack of nowhere he'd disappeared into, Tony resolved that he'd find a way to _actually_ make Dum-E useful. And that was saying something. That bot was just a 100-liter tank of compressed trouble with a broken regulator and no safety valve.

Bruce was going to need all the help he could get if he was going to try to pull off this bullshit. Tony made a snap decision and hurried down to his workshop to start riffling through the stacks of blueprints on his drafting table -- he really needed to find a better way to store them. He could draw and mock things up digitally on his computers, but Obie, the Board, and the manufacturers all still required paper copies.

But that wasn't the important thing right now. Somewhere in this mess he had the specs for a new improved body armour he'd been toying with on his own time. Obie had no idea it existed, and that was a good thing; it'd save him a lot of arguments with Obie and the Board about patents and fraternizing with the 'enemy'.

When he found the one he wanted, he stuffed it into a conveniently waiting poster tube, and slapped a fresh address sticker on it. It would turn up at Bruce's mansion without a return address, but Bruce was sure to guess who it was from. If nothing else, from the Stark Industries logos plastered all over the printout.

It couldn't be helped.

\-- 1999, Bern, Switzerland --

The biotech conference had been awful. Aldrich Killian, annoying as he was, had tried repeatedly to pitch his 'think tank' to Tony, and refused to take no for an answer. Tony had been forced to agree pro forma to get rid of him, and then dodge the 'appointment'.

There had been nothing truly imaginative or groundbreaking in the whole lot of projects presented with awards at the banquet, this year, either. Well, with one exception. Wayne Enterprises had taken the stage earlier to show off the latest and greatest in their medical tech. They were apparently working on making portable solar powered defibrillators for implementation in remote rural areas of sub-Saharan Africa or something of that sort. Something that addressed the need to recharge the devices every ten minutes.

Then there was the second project that had caught his attention. A Ms. Maya Hansen had approached Tony with a prototype that wasn't working yet, and he'd spent a few very entertaining hours discussing it with her. She'd called it the Extremis Virus. It had a lot of issues that needed resolving before it was marketable, but what she did have ready to present to him was remarkable.

They'd almost missed the New Years' celebrations, they'd gotten so deeply involved in their discussion and brainstorming session.

Almost. Tony's cell phone had started insistently ringing something like ten minutes before midnight. When he'd given in and answered the very persistent caller, 'unknown number', a very familiar voice came over the line. "Tony?"

"Bruce!"

"There's a fantastic party a few blocks away, near the Parliament Building. Interested? For old times' sake?"

Tony would have given his old friend a sarcastic sneer, had he been there in person. "Am I interested, he asks. Damn right, I'm interested."

"Right. I'll message you the address."

The call ended without a goodbye, but Tony didn't much care.

It didn't take long to wrap things up with Maya. He left her a card, and left. On his way out he saw that Aldrich Killian had somehow managed to buttonhole Justin Hammer for his spiel.

Let them have their fun. Tony smirked to himself. He was looking forward to seeing Bruce again.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

_Meet me at Du Théâtre in 10 min._

This promised to be a good night. Maybe he could also persuade Bruce into bed, later. That usually didn't take too much effort.

\-- 2001, New York, NY --

The city was still hushed and still. Shocked. The air was choked with dust and smoke even now, two days after the Towers had fallen. They had stood only a handful of blocks away from his own building, and Tony couldn't force down the hard shudder that went through him every time he thought about it.

His phone had rung twice within an hour of the disaster. First was Rhodey, wanting to make sure he was alright. Second… well, suffice to say that it was Bruce's voice that had finally managed to ground him, somehow. His friend had wanted to know what relief efforts Stark Industries was supporting, and which he should throw his own resources behind.

Neither of them had voiced it, but they both knew that, judging by the President's rhetoric, war in Afghanistan was sure to follow on the heels of this mess.

Evidently, though, something in his voice had tipped Bruce off about his own shock and so he was standing on his helipad waiting for Bruce's 'chopper to touch down.

It didn't take long, thankfully; this high up above the city, the fall winds cut through the chasms between buildings like a stream of knives. Almost before the 'chopper had hit the pad, Bruce was up and out of the pilot's seat, jumping down and hurrying over as the whine of the craft's engine slowly faded and the throb of the blades slowed.

"Tony?"

"Hi Bruce," Tony managed a weak smile in the face of his friend's concern. "Let's go inside."

That night, Bruce stayed in Tony's bedroom. For his part, Tony ended up wrapped around Bruce, taking comfort in his friend's presence.

\-- 2008, Malibu, CA --

Staring moodily out the panoramic windows of the Malibu house wasn't soothing his nerves any. The wreckage of the baby grand still lay forlornly on the floor of its alcove, and the hole in the floor needed fixing. And he would eventually have to have the wreckage of his Maserati dealt with. Tony growled under his breath and stood, pacing instead. He wanted to take the suit out and fly until he fell out of the sky.

The only problem with that was that JARVIS wouldn't let him actually follow through, and then he'd get lectures not only from the AI, but from Pepper and Rhodey as well.

Which, yeah, he knew they cared about him. Rhodey had been a good friend for, fuck, decades now. Pepper was incrementally approaching a similar status. Only Bruce had seniority over the two of them, really.

Eventually, either Rhodey or Pepper, or both, would try to pry him open and get him to talk about Obie. To think about rebuilding the LA factory, and replacing the big arc reactor his father had put there... But there was no way he could talk this out with them. Not without feeling so exposed and raw that he'd snap at them.

His cell phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. Who the fuck was calling him now of all times, on his private line, from an unlisted number? Tony scowled. That really could only be one person. "Really? Really, Wayne? _Now_ is the moment you picked?"

"Well, I couldn't very well call while you were battling it out with the Chairman of your Board on live television and then blowing up your own factory." Bruce's tone was hovering somewhere that let it straddle the line between censure and approval.

Tony let himself fall backward onto his sofa. "What do you want from me? I couldn't just let him run loose through LA and destroy half the city."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm picking you up in five minutes. Get out of your shop jeans and into something presentable," Bruce demanded, and hung up.

For fuck's sake. So they would be playing this game.

Throwing the phone down onto his sofa, Tony raked his hands through his hair, caught between affection and annoyance, then gave in and headed up to his bedroom for a clean set of clothes. Bruce had guessed correctly, after all, and if he was going out he didn't need the attention that photos of him looking like a hobo would generate. And neither did Pepper.

Dressed in a clean pair of dark washed jeans and a button down thick enough to hide most of his arc reactor's glow, Tony grabbed for a random blazer and pair of tinted glasses to complete the look. He made his way back down to the foyer just in time for JARVIS' announcement that Bruce's limo was at the gates.

"Let him in, J," Tony instructed, knowing he sounded tired and a little defeated. "He'll only bitch at me for a year if he has to wait for me there."

"Of course, sir," JARVIS shot back. "That does seem to be the standard _modus operandi_ among your friends."

Tony glared up at the nearest camera as the limo pulled up to his door and stopped, engine idling quietly, but the AI wisely said nothing more. After a moment, he shrugged into the blazer, tucked his wallet into his pocket, and waved over his shoulders. "Don't wait up for me, Honey."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sir."

When he was settled in the limo, Bruce immediately pressed a scotch into his hands. "Good to see you're in one piece after all, Stark."

Tony made a face. "More or less."

"Yeah, you'll have to tell me about that nightlight you've stuffed down your shirt, but that can wait. Tonight we're doing drinks and dinner, and afterward, maybe in the morning, you're telling me everything."

"You going to return the favor?"

"If it makes you feel better about it," Bruce smirked. "I've had a lot more time to come to terms with my traumas than you have."

The conversation dried up there, and Tony considered drinking the scotch for several long, silent minutes. He could use that approach to get out of the conversation that he knew was coming, but Bruce would give him half a mountain of grief about mixing meds and alcohol, now that he was sober, and Pepper and Rhodey would supply the other half once they found out. It wasn't worth the risk to his gradually improving health, either. Not if he wanted to _stay_ Iron Man for any length of time. He knew that.

But the temptation was there.

The silence changed when he set the drink aside, turning expectant. Tony met Bruce's eyes, and gave him a half-smirk. "Pain meds."

"Right." Bruce looked oddly proud when he nodded and Tony didn't quite know how he felt about that. After a beat, Bruce went on. "So. Sushi, Ethiopian, or Italian?"

"Burgers?"

Bruce gave him a betrayed look. "No. I said dinner, not junk food."

Rolling his eyes, Tony acquiesced. "Fine. Sushi, then. Heathen."

"Philistine."

They stared each other down for a moment before Bruce laughed. "You are ridiculous. Sushi it is, then. You have a preference as to restaurant, or do you want to try out that new one Downtown?"

"Fuck it, let's give the new one a shot. Miyamoto's isn't going anywhere, it's so well established."

Dinner itself was fairly uneventful. They were forced to dodge the usual crowds of paparazzi, the food was excellent, and the trip back to Malibu Point was somehow shorter than the drive out had been. Possibly because he was full and sleepy.

And somehow more relaxed around Bruce than he'd ever managed to be around anyone else, including Pepper and Rhodey, though Rhodey had come close a few times over the years.

When they pulled up to the house, it was nearly midnight, and Tony gave the driver directions to the hotel nearby that he put up his visitors' drivers in. He was fairly sure they wouldn't be going out again before morning. When the driver looked to Bruce for confirmation, Tony opened the limo door and stood. He leaned against the doorframe as he waited for Bruce.

It didn't take long, and then the limo's taillights were little red flecks of light disappearing into the night like sparks thrown up by an angle grinder.

Tony shook his head to clear it, and opened the door. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"Humble, my ass," Bruce shot back as JARVIS brought the lights up. "It's more like a modern art piece."

"I do appreciate the compliment, Mr. Wayne," JARVIS put in smoothly. "If you'll proceed down the halfway and to your left, you will find the kitchen is well stocked with tea and coffee."

Bruce snorted, amused, and turned to follow the directions. "Right. And who might you be?"

"That's JARVIS," Tony smirked, temporarily distracted from the upcoming conversation as he followed. "He runs the house."

"So you built a smart house and named it after your old butler?" Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.

"No," Tony shot back, "I built an AI into my modern art piece and named the AI after the man who raised me."

"Sir," JARVIS prompted, "perhaps this conversation would be more comfortably had in the living room?"

"Thank you, JARVIS," Bruce replied, "we're fine. Tony mentioned pain medication?"

"Hey," Tony tried to head that off at the pass, "quit interrogating my house, asshole!"

Bruce smirked at him, "I don't see why I should."

"Quite right, Mr. Wayne," JARVIS agreed, the traitor. Tony growled uncomplimentary things under his breath about both of them and was ignored. "The next dose is due in about half an hour, so if you would be so kind..."

"Of course, JARVIS. Tony, where are your meds?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, careful to avoid the deep bruises from the fight and the tender sore areas around the arc reactor itself, Tony tried to stare him down.

"They are currently stored in the bathroom adjoining the master bedroom, Mr. Wayne," JARVIS supplied.

Jesus fuck, he was going to have to have a Talk with his AI. Or maybe just reprogram the sarcasm and sass subroutines.

Without another word, Bruce put an arm around Tony's shoulders and steered him out of the kitchen over Tony's protests. JARVIS helpfully used the tracklighting hear the floor to guide Bruce, even as Tony tried to dig in his heels. He did _not_ need to be mother henned. He was _fine_.

Bruce was apparently not in a mood to let him get away with anything, though. "Tony," he growled, "if you don't stop fighting me on this, I won't hesitate to just throw you over my shoulder."

That was almost perplexing. "Why are you so set on this? I'm fine, Bruce."

The question got him a sour look. "You did what you could to help me when I was starting out. Now it's my turn."

Oh.

Well, then.

Tony relaxed a little, accepting the reasoning and started walking again, but that didn't mean he had to give in with good grace. "You could have just said so from the start."

Bruce huffed at him. "Would you have listened?"

"Probably not," he admitted as his bedroom door came into view. It almost seemed to loom, reminding Tony of the upcoming discussion that he just knew he wasn't getting out of.

"Well, at least you can admit it," Bruce grumbled, oblivious to Tony's thoughts. He opened the door and all but pushed Tony through it. "Go take your meds, and we'll talk. You're not getting out of this."

It echoed Tony's thoughts eerily closely, and that was just...

Tony shook his head and obeyed.

It took them the better part of two hours to cover everything Bruce insisted they discuss. Getting the words out when he had to tell Bruce about Obie was the hardest thing he'd done in a long time. He'd been grateful that they had ended up stretching out on the bed for that part of the evening. He'd been able to hide his face in Bruce's shoulder as he talked, and the arm around his waist did wonders to anchor him.

It made him wonder if he'd even have survived this long without Bruce in his life.

Pepper and Rhodey were good, but this was something else entirely. Bruce understood in a way that they didn't; neither of his other close friends had the same kind of experience with trauma that Bruce did. Bruce had known what it was like to lose your parents simultaneously and violently, and made sure he was around for the funeral and the aftermath when it had happened to Tony. And here he was again, when Tony had just lost one of his closest confidants in what might just be the worst way possible.

It made him want to cling to Bruce and never let go, even as he knew that would never work.

When he'd finally managed to pour everything out, Tony felt oddly light, even with the heavy weight of the arc reactor in his chest. Felt like he might float away without the effects of the arms around him. It prompted him to shift so that he was sprawled half on top of Bruce.

The arm that had been around him stayed right where it was, as though it had been welded in place, and the other arm came up to turn it into a hug. That was when Tony realised that Bruce needed this as much as he did and was about as likely to admit it as he was. Possibly even less likely.

It felt like a lightning strike had hit him; Tony felt the goosebumps rise on his arms and a visceral shudder went through him. As much as he had depended on the knowledge that he was helping Bruce stay safe until now with the tech he offered the world in general and Bruce specifically, Bruce must have felt the same about the way the people around Tony helped _him_. His friend had dropped hints here and there over the years, now that Tony could be bothered to think about it. There had also been a few blatantly obvious occasions, for that matter. His continued enthusiastic endorsement of both Pepper and Rhodey definitely counted. Bruce and Obie had only rarely met, but his opinion of the man had been mostly one of disdain. Bruce had reacted to Obie like he would have a tabloid reporter, those few times Tony had seen them interact. Only barely civil, and as brief as possible without being obviously rude.

If Obie had succeeded, it would have been _Bruce_ that was left alone and mourning, rather than Tony. And Tony would have been dead at the hands of one of his trusted inner circle.

The thought hurt in a way that was half physical.

When the silence fell, it held long enough that Tony started wondering whether it would break before either of them fell asleep. That, of course, was when Bruce spoke quietly. "You know, I'm not sure I would have gotten through the first few months without those body armour designs you sent me."

It was the first time either of them had acknowledged it. Tony didn't speak, waiting to see where this went.

"I've changed and upgraded them over the years," he went on when Tony said nothing. "My R&D guys helped. Well, one of them. He's nowhere near as good as you, but then, you're top of the field for a reason. But without that first set of specs, I'd have caught a bullet that would have gone right through my left lung, and only barely missed my heart. There was a second that would have hit me in the right kidney. I walked away with a pair of deep bruises." Tony's grip on his friend tightened, but he kept silent. "It wasn't even a big job," Bruce added. "Just a mugger I happened to catch red-handed. But without you I might not have survived it."

There really wasn't anything Tony could say, and he knew it.

"I owe you my life several times over, Tony," Bruce repeated, "and this? This doesn't come anywhere close to evening the scales."

Tony shook his head. "This is plenty," he asserted, knowing his voice was hoarse. He didn't care. This was Bruce, one of the few people he could let his walls down around. Suddenly overcome, he pushed himself up on his elbows and leaned in to kiss Bruce, his movements rough and a little desperate.

He was answered in kind, and things escalated from there.

The following morning, JARVIS woke them both, depolarising the windows to let in the morning light and narrating the weather report. Tony had been more than a little bit surprised to realise that neither of them had woken the other with their nightmares.

They ended up having round two in the shower, Tony on his knees and enthusiastically sucking Bruce off.

They were eating a very late breakfast of toast and coffee when Pepper appeared, stalking into the kitchen on her customary three inch stilettoes. "Tony, I don't know what you're trying to accomplish with these-- oh! Mr. Wayne. I didn't realise Tony had guests."

"No need to be so formal with me, Ms. Potts," Bruce gave her his charming smile, and Tony made a face.

"Quit trying to steal away my PA with your face, Bruce."

"I will, if you'll promise me you won't get yourself nearly-killed for at least six months," Bruce retorted.

Pepper snorted. "I hate to say it, but I doubt he'll manage that, Mr. Wayne."

"Hey!" Tony tried to protest. Bruce gave him a sardonic look that shut him up.

Pepper gave Bruce a nod of thanks and went on. "Tony, the Board wants to know more about the green energy initiative you're proposing, and you have about sixty messages from the various defense agencies, the armed forces, the contractors we've been working with on the current contracts, and Agent Coulson is insisting that he be allowed to debrief you."

Bruce huffed, an amused breath of sound. "Sounds like business as usual, then."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Bruce, and be happy you don't deal in government contracts." Turning to Pepper, he added, "I've already told Coulson I'm not doing his stupid debrief; everybody knows what happened. It was all over the evening news from about six different camera angles."

"Actually, sir," JARVIS put in, "I counted ten."

"JARVIS, do me a favour and put together a summary of the green energy projects folder and forward to Pepper instead of making commentary. Two sentence synopsis of each project currently in there, and one representative image each out of the concept art folder."

"Shall I use the usual template?"

"Yes. You got copies of those phone messages?"

"I do, sir."

"Summarise and display for me when I've finished my coffee."

Pepper looked surprised, but gratified. "Well, that was more efficient than I expected. I'll leave you to it. Do see that he eats something more solid than toast, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce laughed. "I make no promises, but I'll see what I can do."

Tony did his best to ignore them and refilled his coffee mug.

It was weird and unusual, but having two of his oldest friends here and watching out for him made him feel safe and warm.

\------


	2. Chapter 1

\-- 2012, New York, NY --

There was a goddamn portal on his Tower, and a war going on. Bruce was _not_ going to be happy with him. Shit.

\-- Two hours after the Battle of New York --

Rather than follow Thor and the rest of the team up to the Helicarrier to deal with locking Loki up appropriately, Tony had taken off for his Tower. Without his HUD, JARVIS had no way to notify him about potential issues remotely. The landing gantry beside the helipad on his personal levels was more or less intact, judging by the outward lack of scorching, cracking, or missing pieces. How the hell that had come to pass, he had no idea. It seemed rather statistically unlikely.

Sure, there was the fact that destroying Stark Tower would have destabilised the portal machine, but that didn't mean the Tower was magically protected against all comers. Case in point, Hulk had left a nice deep Loki-shaped crater in the floor of his living room. Tony made a face. He was probably going to have to remodel the whole penthouse. Again.

He cut his thrusters and drifted down gently, walking along the landing gantry and toward the penthouse. None of the gantry's armour removal systems activated, so either they were damaged, or JARVIS had no access to them. Or both.

The penthouse access door opened smoothly, though, and his AI greeted him with what sounded like relief in his tone. "Sir, you have five pending voicemails from Ms. Potts, in addition to those from a number of government agencies and the usual assortment of reporters."

Tony made a sharp gesture with his hand. "Delete all."

"Ms. Potts wanted--"

"Later, J." All he wanted was to take off the armour and soak in hot water for as long as possible.

"Very well, sir." The AI sounded vaguely miffed. "Might I suggest, then, that you get some rest?"

"The jacuzzi still working?"

"I believe so, sir. It was not at the top of the priority list as far as damage assessment."

"Whatever. The shop intact?"

"With the exception of some non-essential systems, such as the wireless internet, yes."

"Good. The suit's starting to chafe."

\-- Five hours after the Battle of New York --

It had taken a while to make his way carefully down into his workshop, and remove the armour. The suit had taken a lot of damage during the fight, resulting in a lot of dented outer panels, shorted electronics, and unresponsive servomotors. Which was not a big hurdle in and of itself, except for the way that meant he had to remove each panel manually, and a lot of them were tough to reach even when he was uninjured.

Eventually, though, he was finished, and the armour was scattered across the workshop floor. But he'd managed to remove it without aggravating his injuries much or breaking any of his tools. The bruises were starting to limit his range of movement, and he ached down to his bones.

Stripped down to his undersuit, he left everything in the workshop as it was and gingerly walked back out to the stairs. He could clean it up later. The elevators, naturally, were down. Not because the building had no power; the arc reactor was still intact and functional, as were the conduits connecting it to the building's systems. But there were places where debris was obstructing the elevator shafts as a result of the damage dealt during the battle. Luckily, there were only a few flights between him and his goal.

And, once he reached it, he wouldn't have to move for a while.

\-- Seven hours after the Battle of New York --

He hadn't had as much time to soak as he'd wanted. About an hour and a half after he'd gingerly lowered himself into the hot water, right when he was feeling almost relaxed, JARVIS had spoken up. "Sir, Ms. Potts is calling. Shall I put her through?"

"I'll have to talk to her at some point. Might as well."

There was a quiet click that came over JARVIS' speakers, and then Pepper's voice sounded, echoing slightly off the tiles of the room. "Tony! Are you alright?"

"I'm--" he tried, but she kept on talking over him.

"Half the news networks are claiming you're dead and that's obviously not true. But that hasn't stopped them."

"Pep--"

"The other half are either calling anyone in a costume a hero or a terrorist, and the stocks are--"

"Pepper!" This came out as a shout, and that finally got her to stop and take a breath. "Come on, Pep, deep breaths. I'm fine." One of his bruises pulled and he hissed. "Okay, mostly fine. We need to get on the PR thing, you're right, but we need a plan."

"Yeah," she gulped, her tone still shaky, "yes, okay. A plan."

She was obviously still reeling and unsteady, so Tony started offering suggestions. "We need to throw our resources at anyone gearing up to clean up this mess. The team will help as they can, I suspect, but we're going to need a hell of a lot more than five or six people. Get someone to coordinate with the city's emergency personnel and disaster response groups. The Tower will need to be re-certified by the fire department and city engineers, after we've got it fixed up. Until then anyone not in a lab can telecommute. I don't care as long as they get their shit done. Anything that requires a lab can be transferred over to LA temporarily. Whatever. Most of that is probably not going to work as is. Take the ideas and run with them."

"Right," Pepper paused. "Have you seen a doctor, Tony?"

"I'm fine. Just some bruises."

"Tony--"

"Not now, Pep. I'm not seriously hurt and there are a lot of other people who need the attention more."

"Fine," she relented. "But if it hasn't improved in a couple of days, you're letting someone look at you if I have to have them flown in from California just for that."

Tony let his head fall back onto one shoulder with an exaggerated groan. "Priorities, Pep."

\-- Twenty hours after the Battle of New York --

After his call with Pepper, Tony had only managed to stay awake for about three hours before he'd staggered up into his bedroom and fallen facedown onto his bed at about 2 am.

That lasted about four hours before he was awake again, jerked out of a sound sleep by a formless nightmare he couldn't remember the moment he opened his eyes. Rubbing his eyes blearily, Tony stood stiffly and limped to his adjoining bathroom. He was fairly sure he had some over the counter painkillers somewhere in there.

It was only barely 6am, and so he found himself stumbling down into his destroyed living room, looking for something to do. He wasn't going to be getting any more sleep now that he was aware enough to feel his injuries again. As long as he had the free time, he might as well do something productive with it. The rest of the team was recuperating in their accommodations of choice; Black Widow and Hawkeye were aboard the Helicarrier, and so was Cap.

Thinking about Cap wasn't nearly as much of a sore point anymore, but their argument still loomed large in Tony's memory. There was a chance that they could get through the rest of this mess without another big dust up, but Tony found he kind of doubted it would work out that way.

Thor had gone to visit Jane in Tromsøe, anxious to see her again and make sure she had not been harmed by Loki's scheming. Banner was three floors below the penthouse, still out cold according to JARVIS. Tony was kind of looking forward to having a chance to really pick Banner's brain about some of the project ideas he was kicking around to upgrade the Intellicrops Stark Industries was already producing for sale in regions such as India and China. There was a biochemistry element to that, and that was an area Banner was known to be expert in.

"J, sitrep?"

"Well, sir, as you have no doubt already noticed, there is damage to the floor of your living room that needs tending to. Much of the building's outer structure has sustained light damage, as well. There are a number of broken windows that will need to be replaced, three floors with moderate structural damage as a result of the flying sledges we observed during the battle, one floor with heavy structural damage as a result of the Hulk's attempts to take down Loki, and the landing gantry is not currently functional, though the helipad's structure is stable."

"You got any preliminary cost estimates?" Tony tapped at the holographic interface that JARVIS opened in front of him, scrolling down the detailed list of damages and repair costs.

"Not as yet, sir. All local contracting firms are currently flooded by such requests, and many based farther out in the Tri-state area are as well. Based on past contracting jobs, I would estimate the damages at approximately 3.24 million dollars."

"Fine. Earmark double the funds you estimate we'll need and send a note to Pepper with your compiled estimate." Tony closed the interface with a gesture and turned to step up to the intact part of his panoramic windows.

"Yes, sir."

He could see the Helicarrier hanging in the air out over the Harbor. "Any news from the team or SHIELD?"

"No, sir," the AI replied, "though if I might be so bold... you might consider letting Mr. Wayne know that you are indeed not as dead as portions of the media are proclaiming."

"Ugh, fine. But not right now. Coffee first."

The kitchen was miraculously intact and brewing coffee was a simple affair. He got as far as taking his first sip before JARVIS interrupted his enjoyment of the first cup. "Sir, you have a call from Mr. Wayne."

"Damn it."

"I'll just put him through, shall I?" JARVIS didn't give him a chance to say no. Fucking mistake to code his AI with so much sass.

"Tony?" Bruce sounded slightly worried.

"I'm fine, Brucie."

"Define 'fine'." The demand sounded suspicious. "You were out cold for almost a minute after you fell back through that portal. Some insane moron with a camera managed to catch it on film and sell it to CNN. You can't deny the footage."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine means fine. No internal injuries, no broken bones. Some bruises. Not even a concussion."

"Alright, I'll let it go for now, but you're coming out here and staying for a few days."

"I can't, you know that." Tony let himself pace a little. "I need to be here. Got to deal with sending that Asgardian asshat home for sentencing or whatever they do there. Then I need to fix up my Tower, and keep a lid on the stock fluctuations as much as I can. Maybe help out with the clean up if my PR department decides to let me. I know you think I can just drop everything for a while, but--" Tony let the sentence trail off, not quite sure how to end it in a way that wouldn't have Bruce objecting immediately.

"You don't need to be there for any of that," Bruce scoffed. "You could do all of that from here. Bring JARVIS along. Oh, and speaking of post-battle cleanup. Where should I concentrate my own relief efforts?"

"Contact Pepper. She's dealing with the details. My current understanding is that Stark Industries and the Maria Stark Foundation are supporting EMS and other emergency personnel and the local hospitals."

"Still not hearing anything in that list that _actually_ requires your presence. Come out to Gotham. Spend a few days. Rest. Recuperate."

"Alright, fine. You win. Give me a day or so to wrap things up here. Fury is bound to insist on a debrief, for all the good that's likely to do."

"Where you're involved? I don't doubt that."

\-- Twenty-six hours after the Battle of New York --

He'd gotten Pepper to approve of Bruce's scheme without much trouble, and that had been worrying. Something told him she was going to put Bruce up to something with regard to getting him seen to by a doctor. Not that he was, strictly speaking, against that. It was just that the presence of the arc reactor made him one hell of a special case, and that alone was enough reason for him to have a personal physician solely in his employ.

At about 10 that morning, Fury had, as predicted, called for a debrief at noon.

And so, here they all sat, back aboard the wounded Helicarrier and staring blankly at each other as they waited for Fury and Hill to show up. Tony was still wary of most of them; he wasn't sure where he stood with Cap, Romanoff was still on his shit list after the way she'd literally stabbed him in the neck during the Expo debacle (granted, he could admit to himself, he had kind of deserved it, but still. Not cool), and he barely knew Barton. Thor, Tony had discovered, was actually pretty cool to talk to once they'd both gotten past their initial disagreement, and Banner was his science buddy. It didn't leave him many conversational options at the moment. All of the others were in various states of somber contemplation.

As he was about to break the silence, naturally, the door hissed open and Fury strode in with Hill hard on his heels. "Don't even think about it, Stark," Fury said, staring him down.

Undaunted, Tony rolled his eyes. "I don't see why not. Room could use a bit of livening up. Where did you buy these chairs? Ikea? They're so bland and boring."

Cap glared at him. "Still with the jokes, Stark?"

"Life's a joke, Cap. Might as well enjoy it while you can," Tony shot back.

"Before we get too off track," Hill interjected, "let's get back to the point of this meeting."

Tony tuned out most of the rest of the meeting, working on his plans for his Tower's reconstruction on his phone. He answered when there was a question for him, but his eyes never left his blueprints.

"Now," Fury spread his hands proprietarily over the table and leaned down to make his words more effective. "We need to talk about cleanup and reconstruction."

"On it, Nick," Tony interrupted. "Well, as much as I can be when most of the damage hasn't been assessed yet."

Fury huffed at him. "While I don't doubt that, Stark, we need boots on the ground, too."

Tony looked up just long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "Really. You think the six -- no, five of us are going to make a dent in that? Thor's going home with his brother in tow, and I can get behind that. But are you saying that you intend to make your two secret agents, here, lift rubble? Their covers are already blown to shit, but that would only put them farther into the media coverage. Banner? Sorry, Bruce, but somehow I don't think that's going to go well. Cap could possibly help, but on his own that'd be a publicity stunt. Me? I'm useless without my suit, so I'm already throwing money at the problem. What more do you think we could do?"

He got a half-surprised nod of acknowledgment from Romanoff that said she'd already come to the same conclusion, and Hill glared at him, but said nothing. Fury just stared him down some more. Well. Tried to.

"Come on, Nick," Tony snorted. "How much of what I just said was factually incorrect?"

Grudgingly, Fury replied, "nothing. But you're missing the point."

"What point would that be?"

"Publicity."

Tony laughed outright. "Don't talk to me about PR. I have an entire department of people paid to do that for me and manage the times I have to show my face. Just accept that your only real choice here is Cap, and either ask him if he's willing or move on. I have other plans."

That got Cap's attention and he broke into the conversation. "What do you mean, you have plans?"

"I'm going to Gotham for a while. Can't do much in my Tower until she's fixed up."

"You're what?" Cap looked caught between bafflement and surprise.

"Look, do I have to spell it out in small words? I. Am. Going. Out. Of. Town. I need to recover a little from that clusterfuck, and my penthouse is half destroyed. A friend has invited me to visit."

Romanoff nodded, a slight smirk tugging at her lips. "You're staying with Wayne."

Entirely unsurprised that she knew about his friendship with the other well-known billionaire industrialist, Tony nodded. "And we'll coordinate our relief efforts from there. We've been in contact, and Wayne knows roughly what needs to be done, but the specifics will need a personal touch."

Fury nodded. "Good. Cap, you're going with him."

"Sir?" Cap looked like a deer in headlights.

"You're going with Stark to play liaison. Take a few days off."

"Oooooh, no. No no no," Tony tried to put his own foot down. "Not happening, Fury."

"Sir, I'd really rather--"

"You have your orders, Captain. Stark was right; the cleanup doesn't require your presence on the metaphorical front lines. We can spare you for a few days. And in any case, your talents would be more effectively used as a joint liaison to Wayne Enterprises, if they're going to be helping fund the recovery."

"And if Wayne objects?" Tony gave Fury a glare. "He invited me, not the Capsicle."

"You'll all cope, I'm sure." Fury smirked, a slightly nasty edge to the expression. "Stark, shut up and listen to me, for once."

Tony gave in. "Whatever."

He did send Bruce a text to warn him, though. _You got your wish, and some more besides; Fury's sending the Cap with me. Brace yourself. He's almost as self-righteous as your buddy Clark._

 _Thanks for the heads up,_ Bruce replied seconds later. _Plenty of rooms here, and he'll be a nice distraction for Alfred._

Tony snorted, shaking his head.

\-- Two days after the Battle of New York --

It took Cap until about 2 pm to gather all of his things from his SHIELD issue dorm room and show up at Stark Tower. Tony had managed to get the elevators back up and running, so JARVIS had ushered the Captain up to the penthouse main floor. "Please wait here, Captain," the AI requested, making sure Tony heard the words as well, "Mr. Stark will be right with you."

He'd been idly keeping tabs on the news as he waited. By and large, the people supported the team, while the politicians were out for blood. The Republicans, in particular, apparently saw this as an opportunity to reintroduce a lot of the post-9-11 policies they'd favoured, as well as make them more sweeping and restrictive than before.

The futurist in Tony loathed the idea. The idiots would essentially turn the US into a police state to rival any of the nations in the Soviet Bloc if those changes took effect. Warrantless phone tapping and a waiver slapped on the requirement for due process were only the beginning.

There was nothing to be done directly, or immediately, though. He couldn't speak out against those policies without being immediately shouted down and labeled a traitor. Not without significantly more backing than he had right now. That was one of the things he intended to discuss with Bruce, rather than what Fury wanted.

Walking out into his still-ruined-but-now-cleaner living room with a small overnight bag over his shoulder, Tony caught Cap's attention. "Ready to go?" he asked, not bothering with a greeting. They were past that, really.

"As I'll ever be," Cap replied, sounding resigned.

It reminded Tony that Cap hadn't wanted this either. "Hey, look on the bright side," he snarked. "You'll be pampered for a day or two and then we'll be right back in New York. You can go haul bricks or whatever all rested up."

Cap's right hand went to his left flank for a brief moment before he reluctantly nodded. "Right."

Tony gave him a mocking half-bow. "Our chariot awaits."

"Looks more like a helicopter," Cap shot back, startling Tony into a laugh.

And, look at that; this guy wasn't as horrible when he was willing to joke. Still didn't mean Tony was willing to like him. "Good. It is. You got those flight plans filed, J?"

"Yes, sir. I have also taken the liberty of sharing your scheduled arrival time with Mr. Wayne."

Tony nodded and opened the helipad access door. The small 'copter had been checked over and fueled up before his pilot had left her on the large hexagonal landing surface. In comparison to the standard green and white paint that gleamed dully in the sunlight, the helicopter almost shone like a beacon, and Tony pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket as he approached it.

"Who's flying," Cap wanted to know, only now realising that the 'chopper was empty.

"I am, Cap." Tony tossed a smirk over his shoulder and jabbed, "that bother you?"

Cap dodged the question. "You know, you could call me Steve."

"Au contraire, mon capitain," Tony retorted, "isn't it customary not to do that until we know one another? I mean, demonstrably, you know me; you've seen the footage, after all," Tony ignored the slight flinch his words caused. "But I don't know you at all."

Cap went silent after that, his expression carefully shuttered and blank as he stowed his single duffel and stood back, out of the way. Tony shrugged mentally and let him stew as he did the pre-flight checks and warmed up the engine.

They didn't speak much during the trip, either. Neither of them felt like raising their voices enough to be heard over the throb of the rotor blades. There really wasn't much to say, either.

\------


	3. Chapter 2

\-- 2012, Gotham City, two and a half days after the Battle of New York --

Wayne Manor didn't have a helipad, and Tony decided he would have to have a talk with his friend about that. He was forced to land at a nearby local airfield, whose only real amenity was the limo Bruce had sent to meet them.

Tony threw his bag into the back and climbed in after it, assuming that Cap would follow. The bag under his head and his suit jacket stripped off, he stretched out on his back on the long bench along the side of the limo. The trip up to the manor would take about an hour, because the directest route led right through downtown Gotham. The other routes were as long or longer, both in terms of time required or distance.

As Cap settled onto the bench set opposite him, Tony found himself wishing he'd had a suitcase suit to bring. If he wasn't driving, traveling was straight up boring.

It took fifteen minutes for Cap to break the silence. "Look, Stark," he started, "You didn't want me here, and I didn't want to be here, but it is what it is."

Tony huffed at him. "Sure."

Undaunted, Cap tried again. "Gonna tell me anything about your friend?"

"Open a magazine. He's an open book, like me."

Cap raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "I was briefed with magazines and footage before I met you, and look how well that went."

It really hadn't been an auspicious start, and Tony suspected that Agent Agent had had a free hand in determining what footage to show the Cap. At least he'd clearly learned from the experience. "Hah, you have a point. What do you want to know?"

"Well, it'd be nice to know what not to do, for a start."

"That's easy. Don't pull anything like you did when you met me." Tony smirked at him. "I hope that won't strain you too much."

Cap gave him a long level look. "I'm serious."

"So'm I." Tony returned the look, his smirk suddenly disappearing under a serious mien.

Surprisingly, Cap accepted that with a nod and moved on to a new line of questioning. "How'd you meet this guy, anyway?"

Tony raised an eyebrow at his erstwhile teammate. "That's a question that goes back about three and a half decades. A lot of which I don't recall. Some of it intentionally."

After that, the trip passed more smoothly. Tony couldn't quite work out whether that was because he and Cap both relaxed a little, or just because talking made the miles go by faster. Most of what he talked about was superficial fluff, but he had to make sure there was enough substance to satisfy Cap. It was effectively one more magazine interview, and he'd done enough of those to tell those stories on autopilot. Every so often Cap would interrupt with a question, or smirk, amused. In return, he got a few stories even his dad hadn't known about the Commandoes.

In what felt like about half the normal amount of time, they were pulling up to the front gates of the manor, and Tony straightened in his seat, stretching before pulling his jacket back on and running a hand through his hair. Not like it could really be salvaged after the headset he'd had to wear to fly the chopper or his time spent reclining in the limo.

It wasn't like Alfred hadn't seen him in worse state, including that morning right after his graduation. Tony couldn't help the fond smirk the memory brought up. Poor Alfred. He and Bruce had really given both their respective butlers a lot to put up with.

The familiar manor grounds slid smoothly past, and Tony enjoyed the sight. He'd gained a lot more appreciation for having a place like this once he'd built his Malibu house. The level of privacy afforded by a large portion of land was a wonderful thing. Cap was staring out his own window, looking like he couldn't decide whether to be impressed, enamoured, or some mix of the two. But then, Tony realised, this kind of wealth wasn't something he'd been exposed to often, before. Sure, Cap had known his dad, but that relationship had been strictly business and not one that would have had Cap showing up to Howard's house.

True to Tony's expectations, the moment the limo coasted to a gentle stop, Alfred was there to open the door for them, all proper British mannerisms and perfectly pressed suit. Cap looked a little lost, and Tony took a moment to let that amuse him before he greeted his old friend's caretaker with a broad smile. "Mr. Pennyworth, wonderful to see you as always. Bruce hasn't been working you too hard, has he?"

He got a half smile in response, as affection broke through the man's stoic facade for a brief moment. "Not at all, Mr. Stark. Captain Rogers. If you both would follow me, a light lunch has been prepared in the green room."

As Alfred led them through the broad high-ceilinged corridor, Tony took a moment to try to think about this from Cap's perspective, and failed utterly. He glanced over at his team captain and was amused to see that the man had gotten caught up admiring the architecture and the lovely lines of the art deco windows. Before Cap could work past that, they were being ushered into the dining room, and Alfred vanished.

"Jeez, this place is really something," Cap murmured.

"Just wait until you see the rest," a familiar voice replied, and Tony turned toward the door.

"Hey Bruce," he snarked, "I was wondering when you'd show your face."

"Oh, I thought I'd give the good Captain time to recover from the culture shock first."

Cap drew himself up at that. "Mr. Wayne. Pleasure."

Bruce offered him a somewhat perfunctory handshake, waited until his guests had picked something out from the food laid out on the long table, and then immediately turned to Tony and started in on the relief efforts the government had planned and the flaws in their execution. "So who's in charge of the clean up in New York, anyway?"

"FEMA, last I heard," Tony replied. "But Pepper would know that better than I do."

Bruce snorted derisively. "Right, 'cause that went oh so well after Hurricane Katrina."

"Well, Bush is no longer President," Tony shot back, feeling like he could almost hear Cap stumbling over all of that information, "and New York isn't primarily African American or low-income. This is the first true large scale disaster on US soil since then. There were the wildfires last year, but those were more of a job for the National Guard, really."

"Sorry," Cap managed to interject sounding baffled, "what?"

Bruce took pity on him. "A category five hurricane hit New Orleans, and the levees broke. FEMA was nominally supposed to respond, and failed spectacularly. The city is still not truly recovered, even now, and it's been almost a decade."

Tony put in, "it took more than a year to actually get any clean up or rebuilding done that had a noticeable impact on the economy outside the touristy areas, and even then, it was primarily the universities and the industry conglomerates in the area that led the charge, so to speak." He turned back to Bruce, "in this case, we should be able to count on more than just Shell, BP, and Lockheed. If we play our cards right, we should be able to get most of Wall Street to chip in, but we need to focus on the insurance giants. They'll be pulling every trick in the book to get out of paying out for this, just like they did after Katrina. I'd bet you every last cent I own."

It didn't take long for them to get down into a detailed discussion of FEMA's past fuck ups, the UN model[1], how the US was implementing it, and whether it was really appropriate for New York.

Tony vaguely registered Alfred coming into the room something like ten minutes later, and fishing Cap out. Cap went with him willingly, something like relief in the set of his shoulders.

Almost before he knew it, Bruce was looking up from their discussion and Alfred was announcing dinner. "If you would care to relocate to the blue dining room, Master Bruce?"

"Well, Tony, I'd say we've got a solid foundation now. Let's eat." Bruce stood from his position on the fancy settee, and led the way back out of the room.

"Dinner sounds good." Cap joined them, trailing along behind Tony, an oddly subdued tone in his voice.

It wasn't a long walk, and the delicious smell of homemade chicken carbonara permeated the hallway. It was even stronger in the dining room, teasing them all as they settled themselves at the table. Interestingly, Cap seemed to be on more solid footing now than he had before. Either Alfred must have taken the man aside and explained a few things, Tony surmised, or Cap must have asked.

The conversation over food turned to a mix of technical topics and celebrity gossip. Tony took the lead, this time. "Hey, Bruce, how's business, for that matter? Still on your philanthropic kick?"

"Hardly," came the amused response. "No, we did enough of that in the early 2000s to keep coasting on the profits and PR. We're probably due another round, soon. Maybe I'll use this catastrophe in New York as leverage to browbeat my Board into allowing it. They've been a bit resistant to such things lately."

"Stiff competition in the rest of your areas, then?" Tony raised an eyebrow at his friend. "I thought you were more or less in the clear."

"Yes and no," Bruce replied, and Cap looked up from his plate, interested. "We do have some competition, but our market share has stayed pretty much constant. No one else can match our price-quality balance. But there are some new up-and-coming firms that I might have to see about acquiring. Some excellent ideas brewing out there."

"Why not let them sink or swim?" Cap wanted to know.

Bruce caught Cap's eyes and considered him for a moment before he replied. "That's how business works, Captain. If a new idea comes along that could prove revolutionary, you try to buy it. It solidifies your position in the market, adds value to your own products, and removes a competitor, all in one fell swoop. And if you buy it for a fair price, the people who created the startup are well-compensated and could very well go on to start a new company with their next idea. Or they might come and work for you. I nearly always offer that option. My research department is one of the most diverse in Gotham as a direct result, and that is an investment that has paid off handsomely over the years."

Tony nodded. "Stark Industries does pretty much the same thing. Partially because we can afford to, and partially to keep the R&D guys on their toes. It's practically a death sentence in the tech industry to let your research team get lazy." He turned back to Bruce and gestured with his fork. "For that matter, how's your buddy Jim Gordon?"

"Seems to be doing fine. I haven't heard from him in a few weeks, so presumably nothing earth shattering has happened. And Ms. Potts?"

Tony made a face. "As per usual, she does her best to keep me in line."

Cap huffed, amused. "Doesn't seem to be working too well."

Bruce laughed outright, at that. Tony just stared. "Did you just--" He trailed off at the gleam in Cap's eyes. Bruce's interest sharpened noticeably at that. Tony could feel it as an almost physical sensation. "You just insulted me and Pepper in one breath. I'm not sure whether I'm more proud or offended, Cap."

"You're neither. And anyway, you set yourself up for that one."

"He's got a point, Tony," Bruce put in, pushing back his now empty plate, "and we did neglect him all afternoon. Come, Captain, we're going out on the town. The three of us."

"I didn't bring anything fancy to wear," Cap tried to sidestep the offer.

"Nonsense. I'm sure we can scrounge up something." Bruce wasn't having any of it. Alfred appeared silently as if summoned by the mere thought that he could be needed, and Bruce requested a set of appropriate clothes for Cap, blithely ignoring the man's protests that it wasn't necessary. "Would you see if there's anything in my closet that will suit the Captain, Alfred? There's no way we'll get him into any of Tony's things, and we'd like to go out for drinks after dinner, sans the... plaid."

"Of course, Master Bruce." Alfred left the room with a deferential nod, and a hint of a smile in his eyes.

Tony wanted to groan. This was an absolutely _terrible_ idea. But, on the other hand, those were the times he and Bruce had historically had the most fun.

Cap looked caught between mortification and uncertainty, and then Bruce stepped in. "Not that I don't like the look, but it's very world war two, and not entirely appropriate to the local clubs."

"I... see?"

It was clear that he didn't. Hoping to stave off any more awkwardness, Tony stepped in. "It's only for a few hours, and then you can go right back to what you'd normally wear, Cap."

A pair of slacks that mostly fit and a dress shirt that was a bit on the tight side later, the three of them were back in Bruce's limo. As they pulled away from the manor door, Tony took stock of the others. Bruce, not surprisingly, was relaxed enough to almost be lounging on the bench seat, a very self-satisfied expression on his face, and Cap looked like he was ready to open the door and fling himself out to get away.

"Hey, Tony, when are you going to tell me about this team you've acquired?" Bruce broke the silence to direct his question at Tony. Which was a relief until Tony had actually parsed its meaning, that turned into something like amusement.

"You know, Bruce, one of them _is_ right here." Tony waved vaguely at Cap.

"Sure, and I like to think I've got a read on him, but what about the other four? Can't just rely on the news for that kind of information, as you well know."

Tony sniffed, appreciating the parallels with his conversation with Cap far earlier that day. "Point. Alright. Where to even start?" He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts right as they passed the manor gates. "There's the two SHIELD agents, Barton and Romanoff. Pair of deadly spies and black ops operatives. Barton has ridiculous aim with that bow of his, and Romanoff is specialised in infiltration. Pretty good in a fight." There was some history there that he wasn't about to go into now. Not with Cap right there.

Bruce nodded. "And the others?"

"Thor's weird, but fun once you get past the defensiveness. Heir to the throne of some alternate dimension. Big, loud, blond. Got one hell of a booze tolerance."

Bruce smirked. "Just your type, then."

Tony rolled his eyes, ignoring Cap's double-take and attempts to stifle his surprise. "I may be easy, but that's no reason to throw stones, Wayne."

"What? Calling you easy?" Bruce laughed. "That's hardly throwing stones. Anyway. The last guy?"

"Banner? Don't tell me you've never heard the name."

"PhD in Biochemistry, widely published before he fell off the radar, tried to recreate Erskine's serum and failed spectacularly," Bruce recited. "Sure, I know the name, but that tells me nothing about him."

Cap found his voice again and interjected. "Generally quiet, reserved. Big and green when he gets angry."

Bruce turned to face Cap properly, giving him a long once-over. "And I imagine you're pretty good at herding cats, if they put you in charge of this team."

Cap raised an eyebrow at him. "Moderately. My last team was active during the early 1940s. Things have changed quite a lot since then."

Thankfully, the conversation lapsed back into silence for a while. They'd reached the outskirts of the city already, and Tony was starting to very much want at least one stiff drink, and knew Bruce could see it. He was way off his stride thanks to Cap's presence, and it showed. Well, to Bruce at least. But Bruce knew him better than anyone else alive.

At least, Tony reflected, he wasn't on pain medication this time. Yeah, he had a few bruises, and yeah, he was moving a little stiffly, but this time none of them were anywhere that showed when he was in his usual casual suit. A fact that could be directly attributed to the way the armour had actually cushioned his fall properly, unlike the Mark II. He'd still been working on the force transduction elements at the time. Banner had helped, but not even Hulk could disperse that much pure momentum without help.

And he wasn't being poisoned by the arc reactor anymore.

All in all, he'd escaped with comparatively light injuries. Hawkeye had been considerably worse off. The abrasions and cuts had been visible from a ways off. Cap had either come through relatively unscathed himself, or hidden it well. Tony hadn't been able to tell through the coating of dust and grime. He eyed his teammate, only belatedly wondering whether his assumptions were accurate.

Maybe he'd bring it up later. That armour was Stark manufacture, and if it got out that he'd let Captain America get himself killed...

The stock drop would be ridiculous. Even worse than when he'd announced the end of weapons manufacturing.

A tension started to rise, and Tony gave Cap a level look. The man was amazingly good at telegraphing and projecting his emotions. "Cap?"

The query got him a shrug and a very cryptic reply. "Never was a big fan of not knowing where the exits are."

Bruce raised an eloquent eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you've never been out for drinks."

"Well, sure," Cap shot back, "but it was 1943 and we were in occupied France. Not... whatever fancy place you've picked out."

Tony snorted. "It's not really that different, Cap."

Cap's expression went solemn. "It is, in the important ways."

Tony stopped dead in his verbal tracks. He might be bad at social cues, but he knew a landmine when he saw one. "Right, well, you'll see."

They ended up at one of the new high-end clubs in the city some ten minutes later. Bruce led the way out of the limo, leaving Tony to prepare Cap. "Remember now, don't talk to the photographers," he offered. "It only encourages them."

When he stepped out after Bruce, it quickly became clear that their combined names were making one hell of a stir. There were bound to be any number of paparazzi photos circulating in the morning. And that, Tony thought as he watched Cap hesitantly step out of the limo after them, was why they'd tried to find the man some better clothes. When the paparazzi realised who was with them, they went wild.

"Come on," Tony cajoled Cap, "don't just stand there, let's go in."

Bruce laughed and put an arm around Cap's shoulders, turning him toward the door then letting go. "He's right, Captain. Let's enjoy the night."

It got Cap moving, and Bruce turned to Tony, putting a hand on the small of Tony's back. That move set off another blinding flurry of shutter clicks and flash bulbs. It didn't really bother Tony much. There'd always been speculation about the two of them. He and Bruce, and their respective PR departments were well used to that. None of the articles about it made it higher than the TMZ in terms of reputability of news sources, but even so, the speculation never seemed to stop. It fell somewhere between amusing and irritating, Tony decided.

The three of them enjoyed a relatively tame night out, drinking and partying with anyone they came across, but -- Tony hoped Pepper would be proud of him -- nothing more outrageous than a lap dance actually occurred. Bruce teased him about it on the drive back to Wayne Manor. "What happened to you? You used to know how to party properly. Thought you were a self-proclaimed playboy, Stark."

"I'll have you know that I'm a reformed man. Now that I'm moonlighting as a superhero, I've got a different reputation to maintain." Tony sneered back, ignoring Cap's unsubtle snickering. His teammate had gotten progressively more relaxed as the evening wore on, though Tony couldn't have pinpointed why. Nothing had changed, really.

Well, he and Bruce _had_ plied Cap with a fair amount of alcohol, imbibing enough to get themselves buzzed as they did. It hadn't seemed to have much effect, but there were people who didn't show it much when they were drunk.

After that, they lapsed into a discussion of a mix of whatever topics came to mind, not caring enough to stick to one, if another appeared. They staggered from quantum mechanics, which Tony maintained always made more sense when he was buzzed, to statistical analyses, to strategy and tactics. Cap joined in for the latter, and it took them a moment to adjust their conversational momentum to include him.

Somehow that carried them all the way to the doors of the manor, and then Tony was leaning on Bruce's shoulder. Cap followed, and Bruce managed to lead him to the correct guest room. Tony was less impressed by that little trick than Cap seemed to be.

They stumbled on through the Manor house after they'd seen Cap safely to his room, still tipsy and laughing loudly, though it was long after midnight. Tony didn't really think about where he was going until he found himself tumbling into Bruce's bed. Neither of them noticed Cap, peering curiously out of his guest bedroom and down the hallway just in time to see the two of them all but fall into the master bedroom together.

Before the door had properly fallen shut behind them, Tony had his shirt unbuttoned and was letting it fall to the floor. It took all of a moment for Bruce to step up behind him and slide broad calloused hands down his flanks and around to the front of his slacks.

Tony turned his head just enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "You wanted something?"

"Your attention," Bruce replied as he tucked his nose into the hollow behind Tony's ear, "and perhaps the pleasure of your company."

Tony snorted. "You sound like a badly written romance novel."

"Don't knock the classics. They usually work." Bruce set his teeth in the side of Tony's neck and bit down just enough to leave a mark.

Pulling away, Tony undid his slacks and let them fall to the floor. "What's the matter, Bruce," he smirked, "jealous?"

"Hm," Bruce gave him a long once over that almost felt like a physical touch, "well, you did spend a lot of time making eyes at him over drinks. Not that he noticed."

Laughing, Tony grabbed Bruce by the shoulders and shoved him down onto the bed. "Just because he's pretty doesn't mean I'll choose him over you, Brucie."

\-- 2012, Gotham City, four days after the Battle of New York --

Breakfast the next morning was awkward. Steve couldn't seem to look at either of them without turning pink. After a few stilted attempts at conversation, Bruce and Tony shared a look. They didn't even need to speak to understand each other on this kind of topic; they'd trolled almost all of their friends this way at least once, actually, now that Tony thought about it. All it took was one glance, a raised eyebrow, and a smirk, and they proceeded to be as outrageously flirty as they pleased, just to see what reaction they could get out of Cap.

Turned out that the first few comments made their guest go slightly pink, and then he figured out the game.

He caught Tony's eyes and held them for a moment. "You've made your point."

Bruce made an amused sound in the back of his throat. "Good. Glad that's settled."

The rest of the morning went by uneventfully. Tony and Bruce spent their time hammering out the details they could without Pepper's input, and then, after a long working lunch back in the green dining room, Bruce ushered Tony and Cap out to the limo he'd offered them for the trip back out to the airfield.

It took Steve almost forty minutes to work up the nerve to break the building silence. They were nearly at the airfield before he hesitantly asked, "Tony? Are you and Mr. Wayne, um, together?"

"No, we're not together, as such. We'd never be able to make it work, and Bruce has got his little fling with Ms. Kyle to keep himself amused with, anyway." Cap looked even more confused, at that. Tony eyed him. "Didn't anyone tell you it's legal now? I'll get you a tablet and show you Google, if not. You don't have to rely on the incredibly biased information SHIELD feeds you."

"No, they did," Cap replied, "you just always have to break all the social conventions you can, don't you?"

"Well, sure," Tony shot back. "Where's the fun in following the rules?" That got him a slightly rueful half smirk, and Tony grinned. "Besides, Bruce and I have an understanding," he added. "We've known each other for about three decades."

"An understanding." Cap eyed him a trifle warily. As though he wasn't sure he wanted to ask his next question. "What kind of understanding?"

"Well," Tony grinned widely, very deliberately letting it take on a salacious edge. "If we're both single and happen to be in the same place at the same time, we scratch each other's itches."

The look on Cap's face was priceless, and Tony couldn't help himself. He didn't manage to stop laughing until they were back on the airfield. Eventually, though, he forced himself calm again, wheezing a little, and wiped the moisture from the corners of his eyes. 

It didn't last. Every time he looked at Steve, he burst out snickering, reminded of and amused by Steve's disgruntled expression. He'd looked so hilariously uncomfortable. And, of course, every time he burst out laughing, Cap looked a little more irritated.

The flight back to New York was as silent as the trip out had been. It was only once they'd landed in the Tower's helipad again that Cap broke his silence. "Tony?"

"Yeah, Cap?" Tony suspected he knew what was coming.

"Call me Steve." Cap offered a hand.

Okay, maybe he didn't. Carefully, gingerly, Tony took the hand and shook it. "Alright. Steve."

When Bruce found out about Steve's assumptions, he had about the same reaction Tony had. Well, minus the laughing fit.

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[1] https://business.un.org/en/documents/6852  
https://business.un.org/en/assets/39c87a78-fec9-402e-a434-2c355f24e4f4.pdf

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	4. Epilogue

\-- 2012, New York City, five and a half months after the Battle of New York --

Tony leaned against the open bar next to Bruce. They were at a party Stark Industries was holding to celebrate the re-opening of the Tower to the people supposed to be working in it. A lot of Manhattan was still covered in scaffolding, but SI was finally back in business. "You know," he commented with a smirk as they watched Steve attempt to have a conversation with Bruce's journalist buddy Clark, "those two are freakily similar."

Bruce huffed, amused. "A lot of people say that about us, you know. That doesn't mean anything."

"He's still convinced we're an item, by the way," Tony added.

"So are the Bugle, the Daily Mail, TMZ, and Fox News." Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so hung up on what he thinks? Thinking of settling down?"

"With him?" Tony raised an eyebrow at his old friend. "The odds that he'd return my interest are so minuscule they might as well be imaginary values. No. That would go about as well as Pepper and I did. And anyway, I work with the man on suicide missions no one else will touch. Literally life and death. It matters," Tony shot back.

"Since when are you such a team player?" Bruce had the gall to laugh at him outright.

Tony rolled his eyes at his friend. "Since always. If I have the resources, why not take advantage of them?"

"Fair point, I suppose," Bruce acknowledged, "but it's not like you to rely on someone else if you can avoid it."

"I don't rely on them, Bruce," Tony scoffed. "I know better than to do that."

They fell silent for a moment, as the bartender refreshed both their drinks. It was a moment before Bruce replied. "Just remember, Tony," he said quietly, "no man is an island, and there will come a time when even you have to acknowledge that fact."

Tony would have said something scathing to that, but Steve and Clark appeared out of the crowd to stand in front of them.

"Tony," Steve greeted him with a happy expression that reminded Tony of a retriever puppy, "Mr. Wayne."

"Call me Bruce. Please."

Steve turned to face him, and asked, "Tony, have you met Mr. Kent?"

"In passing. Good to see you again." He offered his hand and got a perfunctory shake before the man turned to Bruce and gave him what Tony would definitely qualify as bedroom eyes.

"Let me know when you're ready to go, Mr. Wayne. I've got the stories I need for the Daily Planet's morning edition."

Bruce shook his head with a half smile. "Some things never change. Alright. Tony, unless there's something else we need to discuss, I'll put my compatriot here out of his misery. I've had about all the schmoozing I can handle for one day."

That was a bald faced lie, but Tony couldn't call him on it in public. Looked like Bruce wanted to go spend some time with his booty call. Whatever. He grumbled something he was fairly sure neither of them could hear under his breath before he composed himself. "Not like you're forced to stay," Tony said, managing to keep his voice level. "If the crowds are too much for Mr. Kent, here, by all means, take him somewhere a little less chaotic."

"Thanks, Tony," Bruce replied blithely. "I think I will. If you have time tomorrow, I'll stop by before I head home."

"I'm sure I can find a few minutes somewhere."

And, with that, the two of them were leaving, smiling politely at a few other guests as they went, and saying goodbyes to several more. Steve watched them go, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know," he murmured, low enough that only Tony would overhear him, "I wouldn't mind following suit."

Tony turned to stare at him blankly, stunned surprise dominating every other emotion for several long moments. What exactly did that mean?

Steve met his eyes levelly and calmly, and said nothing.

Tony didn't know what to think. He could shrug and keep things the way they were… Or he could roll the dice and see what came up. 

Tony classified his relationship with Bruce as best friends with benefits. They weren't in a relationship. God, no. That would imply feelings. Well, beyond the strong affection both of them had for the other. But what it sounded like Steve was hinting at… That could never be casual, and Tony knew it.

"You know what," Tony replied, making an impulsive decision, "you have a point. Let's go somewhere a little quieter. It sounds like we have a few things to discuss over dinner."


End file.
